


what was lost

by bstarship



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18714814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: ... and what could be found.ENDGAME SPOILERS.In which Peter knows a lot about grief and he feels too much.And, Spider-Man hasn't been touched in nearly five months.





	what was lost

**Author's Note:**

> this is not a fix-it (sorry),  
> and it might be a lil sad, but it might also be a lil happy!
> 
> if u look at it that way.  
> also like 95% endgame compliant

Peter could no longer sleep.

But when he did, his nightmares came in shockwaves. They filled his senses with motion and static, swirling colors hitting his skull like knives, and the memories swallowed him whole. They’d fade when he woke, but his dreams were etched in the moisture on his skin and the tremors in his hands. So, Peter chose not to sleep, because every night he did, he relived the things he wished he could forget. And he never said a word.

He never mentioned the walls caving in, drywall crumbling and cement caking his skin. He never spoke about hot metal crunching against his jaw, or the mouth full of blood and sand as fire crackled beside him. He never talked about how light it felt in his mentor’s arms when his limbs decayed into the orange sky or the terror of waking up and finding that the years had slipped away without him realizing. He never told a soul about the crushing weight of his sobs when the person he looked up to the most gave his last words in a vegetative trance. It was all too much to talk about, so he never did.

Peter believed that his silence on the matters aided those around him, that it would evade them of any burden. But these thoughts were built up in his head. They spilled out through his nightmares and sleepless nights, yet they never escaped the tip of his tongue.

And maybe Peter was just really good at hiding his feelings–– because no one ever bothered asking him if he was okay.

It spoke through his slumped shoulders in the mornings on his way to school. Some playlist Ned made him played through his shorting headphones, although Peter hadn’t listened to a single song. Not even on the train when he used to love being trapped in his own head. A part of him was now missing, gone like his own ashes in the breeze on Titan. He had been dead. Now, he was back, five years later, and Tony Stark was gone.

“––and finally, I snapped back to reality when my mom started yelling at me to _hit the brakes! Hit the brakes!_ So, I hit the brakes, and–– hey, Peter? Earth to Peter. Ya still there?” Ned Leeds had been rambling. It took effort to maintain a steady consciousness in conversations, and Peter felt guilty about it.

“Wh–what? Sorry,” said Peter. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been zoning out a lot lately.”

Peter nodded. It was true. He spent more time trapped in the walls of his brain than focusing on living. “I’m fine, just worried about the biochem project.”

Ned’s face blanched as his eyes widened. “ _I_ haven’t even been worrying about that. Oh _shit_. When’s it even due?”

“Uh.” Peter adjusted the straps of his backpack, meanwhile, the pair turned down the hall towards the library. “Next Monday. I think.” 

“Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

He shrugged, glancing over at his friend briefly. “Cell proportioning in bacterial infections.”

Ned shuttered and let out a small, “oooh”. As they entered through the library doors, he continued, “how’re you gonna pull that off?”

“Honestly,” said Peter, “I don’t know.”

The lackluster conversation faded off, and the two joined their fellow decathlon classmates at a table in the back. But Peter didn’t have much energy to keep his attention from faltering again. He tapped his pencil rapidly while Flash blabbered on and on about the sites to see in Boston. No one noticed Peter’s dissociation–– they all had the competition to worry about.

A foot nudged his from under the table. When Peter tore his gaze away from his masticated fingernails, he realized he was under the heavy watch of MJ. Her familiar stern expression was peering over at him with a hint of curiosity in the quirk of her brow. Her silence said enough, and all Peter could do was shrug. He had to pretend to be okay sometimes, and he had to be fine with it. So, MJ nodded.

People showed that they cared in different ways–– Peter acknowledged that. Their subtlety kept his thread of emotions from unraveling, so the hints of concern were honestly helping. Any psychologist would disagree, of course. Bottling things up never proved to be useful, but it helped when he was in the middle of a hallway or in the locker room after gym class. Nothing helped quite as much as Spider-Man had used to.

It took him a while to find comfort in that red suit again. His memories of Tony flooded back every time he thought about adorning the spandex. After a short amount of time, it wasn’t up for debate anymore. Peter believed it was his duty to be Spider-Man. Nothing and no one could change his mind, not even the guilt he felt–– not even the grief he wanted to acknowledge.

Peter slid down the brick wall of the alleyway, fighting back loud pants as he wiped his brow of any sweat. The minute he disembarked from the train, he sprinted. There was a certain adrenaline to staying active that he missed, and he couldn’t wait to put on the suit and get started. Maybe he had _something_ to be happy about. The hesitation hit him a moment later. The last time he wore the suit, or any suit for that matter, it had been in the wake of Tony’s death. Peter didn’t know if he was ready to face the action again just yet.

He tossed his shoes behind a pile of garbage bags before he could mull it over any further. As soon as his clothes were off, the suit was on. Peter took a deep breath and slid the mask over his head.

“Hey Karen,” he mumbled, slapping his chest so the suit could seal around his figure. “’s been a while.”      

 “Yes, it has, Peter,” said the AI. Her tone was as warm and comforting, just as he remembered. “You have been away from the suit for a total of a hundred and thirty-eight days. Would you like me to run diagnostics?”

Peter let out a breath. Had it really been that long? After a moment, he replied, “sure. Um, Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

He glanced up at the towering walls of the narrow alley. If he thought about the tight space any further, he was certain the walls would cave in. “It’s just you and me now.”

Karen didn’t say a word.

“Let’s have some fun.”

 -

“Peter?”

“What’s up, Karen?”

“Your heart rate is low.”

Peter sat up from his spot on the roof. The sun had begun setting for quite some time, and he grew tired quickly. But he wasn’t ready to go home just yet. He needed a bit of peace.

“What’s wrong, Peter?”

He let out a huff. “’s funny you ask,” he said, “because you’re the only one who has. I–– I don’t know anymore, Karen.”

“What’s there not to know?” she asked.

Peter felt a rush of anxiety climb into his chest. He didn’t know how to talk about his feelings–– he hadn’t truly done so in ages. Karen behaved like a personal counselor, so he hardly held back the thoughts that usually entered his mind at times like these.

“I dunno how to be Spider-Man,” he said quietly. “I dunno know how to be Peter.”

She remained silent; it was as if she knew he had more to say.

He sighed. “I don’t know how to be who I was before Tony.”

“Would you like to know something, Peter?”

“Know what?” Peter’s heart rate spiked, and he didn’t need Karen to tell him that.

“Your suit is linked to the Stark Industries’ Central Database,” she said, voice falling hushed. “You have access to any recorded audio message or visual recording.”

He stood in an instant, feet carrying him to the one edge of the building all the way to the other. His fingers tapped against the tough material along his thighs, and he fought the urge to swing all the way to White Plains. “W-what do you mean, Karen?”

Without an answer, a display launched in Peter’s vision. In the paused picture, Tony’s face could be seen, frozen in mid-expression. Peter stared at the image for what seemed like ages, not a single thought running through his mind as he stared at the brown irises of his fallen mentor.

“Would you like to watch the video?” asked Karen, her voice snapping the kid out of his hazy trance.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he nearly choked on the air filling his chest. It took him another moment, but he finally responded with a meek, “yes” and sat on a ledge overlooking the street below.

And just like that, Tony was alive in the mask, hands clasping together while he backed away with a weary smile. He appeared to be in a workshop, but an unrecognizable one at that.

  _“Oh, this’ll be fun,”_ he said, and Peter swallowed thickly. Tony continued. _“Hey, there kid. Day–– wait, what day are we on Fri?”_

_"Eight-hundred and thirty-five, sir.”_

_“Ah.”_ Tony frowned and sighed. After a long pause, he sat atop a table. _“That’s a lot of days. Day eight-hundred and thirty-five.”_ He nodded, then pursed his lips before staring directly at whatever was recording the visual message. _“That many days without Spider-Man. Over two years. Crazy. Can you believe?_ ” Tony chuckled. _“Sure you can’t. You’re... Truly, I’ve lost count as to how many of these I’ve recorded. I-I don’t even know if you’re––“_

 __Peter’s vision blurred with tears.

_“I don’t even wanna think about it.”_

__“Pause it,” said Peter. “Karen.”

The video froze.

“Why are you showing me this one?” he asked. “How many did he record?” Peter tried to hide the wavering in his tone, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to sob. He wanted his emotions to completely take control.

“Eight-hundred and four.”

Peter hunched over, clutching his chest the more his heart ached. “Why this one?”

The video began to play again.

 _“Ya shouldn’t be pushin’ up daisies,”_ said Tony. He grabbed his left wrist. _“But that’s–– that’s not–– anyway, Pete.”_ Tony’s hands fell against the table beside him. _“Since tomorrow is your birthday ‘n all, I figured I’d let you in on my gift idea for you. Dunno when you’ll get it, but you’ll–– you’ll get it. Also, let’s pretend it’s not your last year as a teenager, because_ god _, I am not ready to talk about how taxes work with you. Oh, by the way, Morgan’s starting to climb on everything now–– she can’t say a lot but she sure as fuck knows what a_ spwider _is. It’s not because I talk about you or anything, so don’t get your hopes up.”_

 __Tony blinked a few times and let out a sigh. _“I do talk about you. And, Morgan really wants t’meet you, Pete. Two years is–– it’s too long.”_

 __“So is five years,” whispered Peter.

 _“But!”_ Tony clapped his hands together. _“Tomorrow’s your b-day. Pep and I are taking May out for a bite, so you don’t have to keep worrying. She has us. She–– hell, we all miss you, kid. You were like a bug we couldn’t shake off sometimes––no pun intended. And now–– now it’s like I don’t know how to be myself without ya.”_

 __The kid’s shoulders relaxed as his mouth parted at Tony’s confession. Peter had admitted the same thing.

Tony scratched the back of his head. _“What was I... oh! Right.”_ He snapped his fingers. _“Your gift. I, um, took the liberty of making a few more adjustments to your suit. Hope you don’t mind.”_

 __Adjustments? Peter hadn’t noticed any...

 _“Karen, as you call her, helped me out a little with ideas,”_ said Tony. _“It took a while. A few long nights of constant blabbering and many, many pee breaks from drinking too much water and coffee. But we finally sorted a few things out. It’s all up to you, of course. I guess you and Karen are close. But, uh, happy birthday, Pete. If you so choose, I’ll be with you. Always. I hope you’re not causing too much trouble wherever you are.”_

 __Peter smirked against the hot tears on his cheeks. Little did anyone know, those five years had simply been a peaceful sleep for him and everyone else. He remembered slipping from conscious. He remembered how empty it felt in Tony’s arms, and then his eyes were opening to Doctor Strange’s face staring right at him. In the few short hours Peter had known this doctor, he had only seen a small percentage of the man’s emotional range. Peter could recognize relief in an instant.

 _“Maybe you’ll be back someday,”_ said Tony. He appeared distressed again, eyes cast down to his shoes with his hands clasped in his lap. A second later, he was leaping off of the table and starting towards the recording device. _“Love ya, kid. Enjoy listening to me constantly.”_

 __The video ended abruptly, and Peter was once again faced with the street below. His eyebrows were knotted tightly in confusion, yet before he could ask Karen, she spoke up.

“Mister Stark has given you the option to replace my guidance with his,” she said. “Would you like to give it a try?”

Peter blinked. “W-what?”

“Your gift from your nineteenth birthday, Peter.”

“He–– “ Peter couldn’t breathe. “He–– _what?_ ”

“You can switch back whenever you choose,” said Karen. “Happy belated birthday, Peter.” 

A dozen or so pop-ups invaded Peter’s vision, but they all vanished as soon as they came. His already overwhelmed senses saw flashes of reds and blues, and then there was nothing. So, he waited.

“H-hello?” whispered Peter.

“Hey, Pete.”

Peter sucked in a sharp breath and gripped the concrete ledge until it splintered beneath his hands. Dust filtered between his fingers as he started to cry again.

“Mi-mister–– Mister Stark?” Peter choked out. The world spun around him, and he hardly noticed how much it hurt to breathe.

“You can call me Tony, Pete.”

The sobs wracked Peter’s body. It came over him suddenly, and soon, his senses began pouring everything into his system. “Karen–– I c-can’t–– I can’t. I can’t do this. It’s too much. Karen–– p-please, it’s too––“

“Kid, you appear to be having a panic attack. You need to breathe—“

“No, no, no, Mister Stark, I can’t— I _can’t.”_ Peter ripped the mask from his face before lifting himself back over the ledge and onto the roof. His legs took him across and back again, and he could no longer focus on his walking or his breathing. Every time he raised his hand to fist at his hair, he could hardly feel a thing. His knees buckled soon after.

The choking sobs returned. There, on a roof at sundown, he lay curled up on his side, staggering breaths leaving his body as he fought through the piercing pain coursing through his chest. Minutes passed before Peter could acknowledge the temporary value of the attack, and soon, he found himself able to steady his breaths.

Fifteen minutes later, Peter hesitantly placed the mask back over his head.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you, Peter,” said Karen. “We’ll try again another time.”

Peter turned on his back and faced the sky. “Karen?” 

“Yes, Peter?” 

“When–– when did he record the last video?”

“April of 2023.” 

Peter sighed. “Play it.”

 “Are you sure, Peter?” asked Karen. “You only just—“

“Play it please.”

Another frozen picture popped up into Peter’s vision, and this time, Tony was against a fridge in what looked to be a very cozy kitchen. His arms were crossed, and a smile was on his face. This Tony had found happiness in what he had. A second later, the video played, and he started to chuckle.

 _“I am,”_ said Tony, _“the biggest dumbass in the world. You know why, Pete? I got a family, a loving wife and daughter— I should be happy with how my life is. I mean, I am. I am so happy. But, course, you had to go and remind me that life is always better with you in it, huh? I should’ve hidden that picture, but I sure do love seeing that stupid face of yours every time I wash dishes I guess.”_ He smiled again and rapped his knuckles against the counter behind him.

 _“I think you purposefully made that spray nozzle thingy slip from my hands just so I could have the mere_ inclining _of an idea,”_ he continued. _“God,_ _I did not expect to figure it out, but there I was, figuring it out! And you, you were the only thing I was thinking about the entire time as selfish as it sounds. Time. Time travel. I figured it out for you. Crazy, right? All that_ Back to the Future _shit–– I can do it. Differently, but y’know what I mean. I can build a time machine, and it’s all for you, Pete. And who knows if any of it will work out? But it’s hope_.  _There’s_  hope _._ ”

Tony sighed. _“I’m tired of living without ya, Pete. You— you were just a kid. Not even two decades into life and you were already a better person than I would and will ever be. I meant it when I said I wanted you to be better because I knew you_ would _be better, kid. You were better— you are better. You have so much life ahead of ya, and it’s— you aren’t here, and I kinda feel like I’m partially responsible. y’know?”_

 __“You’re not, Mister Stark,” said Peter. The video kept on playing.

 _“Like, you would still be out in that damn onesie if it weren’t for me. Or maybe I saved your life because we both know how reckless you can be.”_ Tony cracked a smile, and so did Peter. Yet Tony’s faltered. _“But then I didn’t save you— I couldn’t save you. and I’ve had to live with that for the past five years. I’m done. I’m done living with it. Here’s my last message to ya, Pete–– I’m gonna save your fucking life.”_

 __There was a long moment of silence. Tony stood still, vacant glare towards another spot behind the recording device.

 _“If this— if we make this thing work_ ,” said Tony, _“There’s a possibility I might not make it, or Nat or Clint–– or Professor_ Hulk _... but if that’s the case, kid, don’t blame yourself. Don’t blame yourself for a sacrifice. Just because we did it for you doesn’t mean you deserve to feel guilty.”_

Peter let out a shaky breath.

Tony grinned again, but it was much smaller. Hardly noticeable at that. _“Because if you’re viewing this, you’re alive, and maybe I am, too. But it’s Thanos we’re talkin’ ‘bout. We can’t always come out alive. The heroes can’t always win. We know that now. But it’s not for nothing. I know you’d take a bullet for me, too. I mean, I wouldn't_  want _you to, but... anyway. Love you three thousand, kid— okay, wait, you don’t know that, sorry, that’s— Morgan’s getting’ into my head. See you soon, kid. Bye.”_

Peter lifted the mask just above his nose. “That was the last message?” he asked his AI.

“That was,” she said. “But there are eight-hundred and two more for you to view.”

“Jesus.” He sat up slowly. His stomach hurt from crying so hard, and his eyes were tired. For a moment, Peter sat still, arms tense against his raised knees while he waited for a definite thought. His senses had dulled at last. The distant sounds of New York calmed him for once, and he let himself be completely immersed in the cool fall breeze. Two deep breaths and a gentle sigh. Peter felt somewhat okay again.

“Are you okay, Peter?” Karen wondered.

A small smile played on his lips. “I’m–– I think so, Karen. Could I talk to Mister Stark again?”

“I suggest waiting until––“

“Karen.”

“Yes, Peter?”

“It’s okay.”

Peter waited a moment or two. He no longer sensed the wave of anxiety that had rushed over him. Instead, what he felt was different. It was a little like bliss. And excitement. He was excited. He had a lot to look forward to.

Tony loved him.

“Mister Stark?”

“Just call me Tony, Pete.”

Peter let out a wet laugh, and a few tears fell meanwhile. “I miss you, Tony.”

“I miss you, too, kid.”


End file.
